


tiny scar

by nami64



Category: British Royalty RPF, Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, First Time, I Don't Even Know, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nami64/pseuds/nami64
Summary: the morning-after their first night together. no need to say that pre-marital sex is my headcanon for this one-shot





	tiny scar

–

_late december 1485 / coldharbour’s residence / london_

–

Elizabeth woke suddenly, an uncomfortable heat in the room.  
Hours ago she’d fallen asleep in her bed at Coldharbour –not alone. Henry’s presence in it quickly came back to her memory and senses, and Elizabeth, laying on her back, turned her face to look at him. Her King was still sleeping. Perhaps, it had not been how she had pictured their first night, but she had found that it felt right and appropriate. In other words: efficient.  
Pain had happened at some point but her mother had warned her, and Henry was a considerate betrothed, waiting and going further only with her consent. Yet, no pleasure. But since when did duty and pleasure work together?  
Every word exchanged between them before or after –they were mainly silent during the act– assured her that Henry would be a pleasant husband. But love or passion were apparently not for her.  
The King had decided to make his way to her bedroom around eleven in evening and she had let him in. After all, she had been the one suggesting this. They have both remained dressed, until he removed his shirt to look more ‘normal’ in front of her anxious eyes. Elizabeth kept her nightgown on all along. And it happened.  
Now, lifting her head from her betrothed’s still sleeping form, she pondered at the heat. It took only a moment for her to realize there were hints of timid daylight shining through the bed-curtains, and she could just hear the muffled sounds of the fireplace. The simple combination of the first rays of light, a still healthy fire, and their combined body heat under the blankets answered her brief worry and she was able to relax, turning her attention again to Henry.  
She braced herself on her elbow to study him as she carefully tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. His features were at peace, so different from the regal mask he seemed to wear daily. The picture was oddly soothing.  
He breathed heavily as he awoke from his rest, and instinctively she moved away her hand, not yet used to such proximity. He was still bare chested, she was still fully clothed.  
Opening his blue eyes drew another sound from him and Henry turned to face her, recalling the events of last night apparently more quickly than her.  
“Good morrow Elizabeth.”  
“Good morrow,” she answered with a shy smile. Turning, he positioned himself in a mirroring position of hers on his elbow, the two betrothed now facing each other.  
“How do you feel?” he asked in a still sleepy tone.  
A rosy hue blossomed on her cheeks as she ducked her head humbly. It was difficult to determine, as she was still a novice to such matters in comparison to her future husband. “I feel… _good._ ”  
The poor choice of words was evident and she regretted it immediately. Henry nodded, an expression of frustration poorly hidden on his face.  
They both stayed still in the bed, observing each other before trying to lurk behind the curtain and to guess the hour, or staring at the wall and its moldings or observing their own hands. After a long silence, Henry finally decided to move. He sat up in the bed, looking around for where he had cast away his shirt last night.  
It was there that, while laying on her side, Elizabeth spotted a scar on him. A scar in the shape of a V just below his ribcage. A scar she hadn’t noticed last night. Since when was it there? It looked old and deep. Probably a few years? And how did–  
“Curious?”  
The voice brought her back from her daydream. “I am sorry,” she replied.  
“No need to. I want frankness between us,” he continued, sitting more comfortably on the mattress as he looked down at her, lying on her back. “If you have any issues or questions, ask. About anything.”  
She pondered on whether or not she should follow his advice and speak her mind, _about anything_. Yet, from the few times they talked privately, genuine honesty had been spotted behind his cautious moves. As well as tenderness hidden by his steady attitude.  
“A swordfight?”  
A grin formed on his thin lips at her suggestion. Henry’s face always turned into something softer and more expressive when he smiled and Elizabeth decided it was an action he should do more often.  
“No. No Elizabeth,” he smirked, “Sadly, something much less heroic and much more pathetic.”  
The frown on her face forced him to go on.  
“I was 15 -maybe 16, I don’t remember precisely. Francis, the Duke of Britany decided to go on a hunt with some of his courtiers and loyal men. On our horses, my uncle and I joined the group with our bows, ready to catch one of the beautiful deer that populate the Brière’s forest. With my uncle’s skill and my own ability to hide, we quickly found marks on the ground of what looked like an old stag. I was already imagining what could be the best place in my room for the antlers,“ he giggled, running his hand through his messy hair. Henry’s expressive features were contagious and Elizabeth laughed as well. “I was the first to spot the wild animal. In an instant, I raced after it, my horse as fast as the wind, jumping log after log. The game was just in front of me! I drew a silver arrow out and bent my bow, the stag just a few feet away! But–”  
“But?”  
“I didn’t see the oak’s branch. And I fell with my bow, tense and ready to let the arrow fly. Which is exactly what happened. Into my side.”  
Elizabeth’s lips formed a perfect ‘O’ as she pulled her hand on her chest. “My Goodness!”  
He shrugged. “Not really a story I like to share. Only my uncle, and now you, know about it. So no, not a battle memento I fear,” he concluded, his arms now resting on his knees.  
A soft giggle escaped her at his disappointed expression, and she happily observed that Henry took no offence of her reaction.  
“There is nothing to feel ashamed about Henry. We all have acted carelessly in our young years.”  
“Even you?”  
Though interested in this sudden complicity and exchange of childhood memories, she still did not feel comfortable enough to confess all of them. Yet, she knew one of the same kind. Hesitant, she moved from the pillow to sit up on the bed, adopting the same position as him.  
Slowly, she put her hands on the sheets to push them, uncovering her lower body. The white nightgown she was still wearing rested to mid leg, above the knee, exposing her white skin. Not casting a glance at her betrothed, she bent her left leg, the right one flat on the mattress, to reveal just beneath the knee, on her calf, a scar. Tinier and darker than his own. Looking like a spurt of paint or a dying flame. A little pink spiral surrounded by a milky ocean.  
Henry’s gaze traveled between the thin gush of flesh and her face.  
“I was 10,” she continued without hesitating. “The weather was terrible and for days, April’s rain didn’t stop. My sister Cecily, who was… seven –I think?–, and I were playing inside the Palace. Me running after her, and she trying to hide. The corridors were our Kingdom and our laughs, the only sound filling them. We were playing everywhere! Even in our Mother’s household which was beautifully decorated. And in our enthusiasm, at some point, Cecily ran into a wall,” Elizabeth laughed at the memory, glaring at the little scar. “But, I was just behind her. She ran into the wall and the mirror that rested upon it didn’t handle the impact well. It fell to the ground, and shattered glass all over the room. I stopped, yet not quickly enough. A piece entered in my leg just there.”  
Her two palms pressed in the mattress, she stared at the little imperfection. What a panic it had been when her mother saw the blood and the glass in her calf!  
“Did your sister Cecily get reprimanded?”  
“Not even a little! A scandal,” her voice answered with amusement and laughter. A chuckle escaped Henry’s lips.  
The atmosphere in the room changed during the last minutes, suddenly the respectful but still-distant feeling that had been in the air was now tainted with complicity and ease. As if the events that happened last night were finally taking root into them. They were bonded, not only by ink on parchments and oaths pronounced, but by something else…  
Seated by her side, her future husband was still staring at her uncovered leg. “It is said that Kings had the power to heal diseases and disorders by their touch.”  
“Thaumaturgic power? I know.”  
“Do I hear skepticism in your tone Elizabeth?”  
“Oh no”, she replied lightly as her curved knee swung lazily from left to right. “I follow precisely the words of Saint Thomas the Apostle: I refuse to believe until I am able to see.”  
The confidence made him smirk. “Fine.”  
In a blink, he placed his right hand on the little imperfection to cover it entirely. The tips of his fingers were cold against her skin, although his warm palms balanced the contact. Immobile, Elizabeth stared at her King and at his piercing blue eyes on his own hand. Did he truly believe in these so-called thaumaturgic powers? God seemed to have chosen Henry to rule England, but did He bless him with miraculous abilities? A perplexed smile curled up her lips.  
After a few seconds, Henry removed his palm. Their two impatient stares inspected the result. The scar hadn’t vanished.  
“It needs more time,” the monarch stated with composure. Again, his hand rested on her skin. It took Elizabeth all her strength to not giggle but her betrothed’s stubbornness made her realize the real nature of the man beneath the crown, the real reasons why he was now the one wearing it. When he had an aim, he would never give up on it, no matter the difficulties. And at this exact moment, he only wanted to make disappear this scar.  
“Would it be that bad if I keep bearing this mark? Would it lower my value?”  
He turned his face to look at her, as if he hadn’t hear –or refused to notice– her words. “Does it still hurt?”  
The question confused her. Such a remark made no sense. The scar was so old. Unless he was talking about another pain. “No. Not anymore.”  
A smile on his thin lips was his answer. Hidden by auburn strands, Henry’s eyes were back on his attempt of miracle. Elizabeth wished she was able to push his long dark hair from his face to observe his eyes. Were they shut like during redemptive prayers? Or wide open as a desperate pilgrim begging for God?  
“Perhaps with your two hands it would work more efficiently?” she suggested in an amused tone.  
Quickly, his hand moved from her calf but resumed its previous position in the same second, allowing only Henry’s sight to catch the product of his ‘powers’.  
“My Lord?”  
“You saw nothing,” he replied, and his left hand decided to join the right one on her skin, “It needs more contact. And please: Henry.”  
She couldn’t help but laugh as she sat back, leaning on her two arms. The situation was childish and she realized Henry’s attention on this tiny detail revealed completely her future husband’s character. At last, one of Elizabeth’s hands left the mattress and reached out to push his hair from his face. Eyes shut. _Disconcerting and charming at once,_ she thought.  
The attempt lasted an entire minute this time and when his warm palms finally moved away, no need for Elizabeth to look at the result –Henry’s frown was enough.  
“Sorry Henry.”  
Their eyes met. Amusement in hers ; concern in his, yet with something more. “It needs more fervour then…” he whispered.  
But what could be more fervent than prayers and hands from a King? His fingers again touched her skin, but this time not even close to the place where she bore the scar. One palm on her knee, the other around her delicate ankle. And carefully, leaning over her other leg resting on the mattress, he pressed his lips against the little imperfection. The connection lasted and both her hands clutched the blanket instinctively, knuckles turning white. The betrotheds had been intimate last night, acting like husband and wife, doing their duty, and maybe now, Elizabeth was even carrying the heir of the crown.  
But this only touch, of a King lowering himself to kiss her there, on this vile mark, was thrilling.  
His mouth retired from her skin.  
“It’s still there.” His breath caressed the now slightly moistened spot. Again a failure, but this time, no disappointment in his voice. “More fervour.”  
“Henry…”  
But he didn’t lift his head at her plea and his lips met again the startling paleness of her skin. Henry moved in a position allowing him to enjoy more easily her softness. Elizabeth followed, leaning back on her elbows, her nails dug into the sheets.  
His mouth opened to let his tongue trace the pattern of her scar. _Is it something husbands do?_ She thought. _Is it something Kings do to their Queens?_ Her reason wanted to ponder and to think about it but lost track when Henry went further up, kissing her knee, her other leg flat between the mattress and his body. Not a word, not a noise in the room. Only her breath echoing in the silence. He continued to kiss reverently the inside of her knee, slowly making his way up her inner thigh.  
Everything was different from last night. The light, the warmth in the room, even them. A few hours ago, Elizabeth was a maid and Henry’s body, a strange thing to touch, fear petrifying her limbs. But now, comfort and ease appeared, and pleasure under his touch seemed suddenly a plausible –and desired– concept. Her arms shaking, she let herself lay completely flat on her back.  
A cloud of red golden hair spread on the pillow. Goosebumps she couldn’t control started taking over her body, and Elizabeth felt a shiver down her spine when her eyes locked with his. All she could hear was the heavy thumping of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her whole body shivered as waves of heat pooled in her veins when she felt his mouth moving further on her thigh. A low and surprising moan escaped from her throat and that look he continued to give her sent tingles straight between her legs. Blushing all over her face, Elizabeth felt the hem of her nightgown pushed higher and higher to her waist, exposing herself entirely to his view.  
Now on his knees, Henry leaned in pulling her thighs apart, lighting her skin aflame as he licked his way up to this place only he knew.  
“Henry,” she gasped as her hands played spontaneously over the muscles of his back. “Henry what are y–”  
Her eyes screwed shut and her back arched as a simple movement brought his lips to the center of her thighs and she nearly screamed with surprise. Yet, given the danger still present in her mind –after all, they were at his mother’s residence– she bit her cry back as much as she could. One arm across her hips suddenly held her still then, allowing him to do as he pleased with her ; the other one hand, caressing her soft breast through the cloth.  
How did he know of such things? Was it a welsh tradition? Or a secret between only them? Her fingers run through his dark hair, pulling him closer to her in a complete greedy need. Her mouth fell open, the no-longer-a-maid-Elizabeth delighted by even the slightest movement of his lips and tongue upon her. Pants and moans and sighs and a soft litany of his name in strangled gasps filled the room.  
“God!” was the only word she seemed able to express correctly, her breath erratic and raw in her throat. Her body beginning to glisten with sweat, pleasure sinking into her as her hips bucked forward. She didn’t know such bliss was possible.  
In that moment, Elizabeth thought about begging, his touch enough to nearly push her towards completion. Looking down with blurred vision, her glare met Henry’s piercing eyes, always on her. The same intensity in them he had showed during the attempt of disappearance of her scar. Now, his intentions were entirely different but so evident. To please her as she had pleased him last night. To let her forget any pain.  
Unable to handle more ‘attacks’, her head fell back onto the pillow in a loud cry of triumph. His hand on her breast, his tongue and mouth upon her most secretive place -she was lost. Elizabeth’s legs tensed around his head, her body trembling as she approached something she didn’t know… a precipice, a peak, a fire? Her hands were making fists, her knuckles were turning pale. “Oh Jesu!” she gasped out, the world turning white around her as her every muscle clenched tight in pure joy.  
Upon feeling her come apart beneath him, Henry pulled away. Elizabeth’s body shuddered, numb, and she placed her hand against her brow as she tried to catch her breath. Eyes shut, she could sense him crawling on her and while doing so, he carefully positioned her nightgown back in a more decent posture. _He is considerate,_ she thought. _And a skilled lover._  
When she reopened her eyes after long seconds, Elizabeth found him by her side, his arms supporting his weight as he looked down at her.  
She reached out and placed her hand on his cheek to draw him closer. Willingly, he leaned over to press his lips against hers.  
“Thank you…” she whispered. _Thank you?_ Maybe for the chance to have such an accommodating betrothed? It was rather dizzying the way Henry offered her affection and pleasure when nothing really obliged him to. And such attentions made her only eager to practice and learn more. Usually so pious and devout, maybe it was natural for a _(future)_ wife to become more wanton?  
Her thumb caressed his bottom lip –  
“Welsh custom?”  
– which he kissed –  
“French custom.”  
– and she giggled shyly before he took her lips again for a deep kiss promising more.  
Though, still curious about his previous paramours and knowledge, time’s injustice couldn’t be ignored forever. Already, the church bells could be heard from afar for the first mass service, and the servants would soon fill the corridors. Henry had to leave her.  
Their lips parted. “I should go back to my room.” Elizabeth nodded.  
The bed creaked when he left it, and it reminded Elizabeth that she had forgotten to ask him for a new one. While her bare-chested-betrothed walked throughout the room, she didn’t take her eyes of him. Tall, slender but well built, he couldn’t be described as handsome or beautiful like both her parents, but Henry had a real charm he seemed to save only for her.  
She felt displeasure when he put his shirt back on.  
“I will see you at the first liturgy with your lady Mother,” she said from her bed, a soft smile on her still swollen lips, “ _my Lord_.”  
“I hope so,” and he bowed, “ _my Lady._ ” With his loose shirt and simple breeches, the scene was anything but regal.  
After having checked that the way was clear, Henry disappeared behind the door in silence. His sudden absence turned the atmosphere of the room into something dull and colder ; against all logic since the sun was getting higher in the sky. Elizabeth sighed as she looked at the ceiling, her arms spread on the mattress. _Henry will be a good husband. And I will be a good Consort_ , she promised to herself. _A devoted Queen, a devoted wife, a devoted mother, a devoted Christian_. Her lips softly curled up at the last part.  
She would have to confess today.

–

_fin_

_-  
_

**Author's Note:**

> _i wrote this two years ago, but now i post it there. so... tada!_


End file.
